The new minister's wife was sitting under the shade of her great maple
early one morning, when she first saw the Little Prophet. A tiny figure
came down the grass-grown road leading a cow by a rope. If it had been a
small boy and a small cow, a middle-sized boy and an ordinary cow, or a
grown man and a big cow, she might not have noticed them; but it was the
combination of an infinitesimal boy and a huge cow that attracted her
attention. She could not guess the child's years, she only knew that he
was small for his age, whatever it was.
The cow was a dark red beast with a crumpled horn, a white star on her
forehead, and a large surprised sort of eye. She had, of course, two
eyes, and both were surprised, but the left one had an added hint of
amazement in it by virtue of a few white hairs lurking accidentally in
the centre of the eyebrow.
The boy had a thin sensitive face and curly brown hair, short trousers
patched on both knees, and a ragged straw hat on the back of his head.
He pattered along behind the cow, sometimes holding the rope with both
hands, and getting over the ground in a jerky way, as the animal left
him no time to think of a smooth path for bare feet.
The Came pasture was a good half-mile distant, and the cow seemed in no
hurry to reach it; accordingly she forsook the road now and then,
and rambled in the hollows, where the grass was sweeter to her way of
thinking. She started on one of these exploring expeditions just as she
passed the minister's great maple, and gave Mrs. Baxter time to call out
to the little fellow, “Is that your cow?”
Elisha blushed and smiled, and tried to speak modestly, but there was a
quiver of pride in his voice as he answered suggestively:
“It's--nearly my cow.”
“How is that?” asked Mrs. Baxter.
“Why, Mr. Came says when I drive her twenty-nine more times to pasture
'thout her gettin' her foot over the rope or 'thout my bein' afraid,
she's goin' to be my truly cow. Are you 'fraid of cows?”
“Ye-e-es,” Mrs. Baxter confessed, “I am, just a little. You see, I am
nothing but a woman, and boys can't understand how we feel about cows.”
“I can! They're awful big things, aren't they?”
“Perfectly enormous! I've always thought a cow coming towards you one of
the biggest things in the world.”
“Yes; me, too. Don't let's think about it. Do they hook people so very
often?”
“No indeed, in fact one scarcely ever hears of such a case.”
“If they stepped on your bare foot they'd scrunch it, wouldn't they?”
“Yes, but you are the driver; you mustn't let them do that; you are a
free-will boy, and they are nothing but cows.”
“I know; but p'raps there is free-will cows, and if they just _would_ do
it you couldn't help being scrunched, for you mustn't let go of the rope
nor run, Mr. Came says.
“No, of course that would never do.”
“Where you used to live did all the cows go down into the boggy places
when you drove 'em to pasture, or did some walk in the road?”
“There weren't any cows or any pastures where I used to live; that's
what makes me so foolish; why does your cow need a rope?”
“She don't like to go to pasture, Mr. Came says. Sometimes she'd druther
stay to home, and so when she gets part way she turns round and comes
backwards.”
“Dear me!” thought Mrs. Baxter, “what becomes of this boy-mite if the
cow has a spell of going backwards?--Do you like to drive her?” she
asked.
“N-no, not erzackly; but you see, it'll be my cow if I drive her
twenty-nine more times 'thout her gettin' her foot over the rope and
'thout my bein' afraid,” and a beaming smile gave a transient brightness
to his harassed little face. “Will she feed in the ditch much longer?”
he asked. “Shall I say 'Hurrap'? That's what Mr. Came says--'_Hurrap!_'
like that, and it means to hurry up.”
It was rather a feeble warning that he sounded and the cow fed
on peacefully. The little fellow looked up at the minister's wife
confidingly, and then glanced back at the farm to see if Cassius Came
were watching the progress of events.
“What shall we do next?” he asked.
Mrs. Baxter delighted in that warm, cosy little “_we;_” it took her into
the firm so pleasantly. She was a weak prop indeed when it came to cows,
but all the courage in her soul rose to arms when Elisha said, “What
shall _we_ do next?” She became alert, ingenious, strong, on the
instant.
“What is the cow's name?” she asked, sitting up straight in the
swing-chair.
“Buttercup; but she don't seem to know it very well. She ain't a mite
like a buttercup.”
“Never mind; you must shout 'Buttercup!' at the top of your voice, and
twitch the rope _hard_; then I'll call, 'Hurrap!' with all my might at
the same moment. And if she starts quickly we mustn't run nor seem
frightened!”
They did this; it worked to a charm, and Mrs. Baxter looked
affectionately after her Little Prophet as the cow pulled him down Tory
Hill.
The lovely August days wore on. Rebecca was often at the parsonage
and saw Elisha frequently, but Buttercup was seldom present at their
interviews, as the boy now drove her to the pasture very early in the
morning, the journey thither being one of considerable length and her
method of reaching the goal being exceedingly roundabout.
Mr. Came had pointed out the necessity of getting her into the pasture
at least a few minutes before she had to be taken out again at night,
and though Rebecca didn't like Mr. Came, she saw the common sense of
this remark. Sometimes Mrs. Baxter and Rebecca caught a glimpse of
the two at sundown, as they returned from the pasture to the twilight
milking, Buttercup chewing her peaceful cud, her soft white bag of milk
hanging full, her surprised eye rolling in its accustomed “fine frenzy.”
The frenzied roll did not mean anything, they used to assure Elisha; but
if it didn't, it was an awful pity she had to do it, Rebecca thought;
and Mrs. Baxter agreed. To have an expression of eye that meant murder,
and yet to be a perfectly virtuous and well-meaning animal, this was a
calamity indeed.
Mrs. Baxter was looking at the sun one evening as it dropped like a ball
of red fire into Wilkins's woods, when the Little Prophet passed.
“It's the twenty-ninth night,” he called joyously.
“I am so glad,” she answered, for she had often feared some accident
might prevent his claiming the promised reward. “Then tomorrow Buttercup
will be your own cow?”
“I guess so. That's what Mr. Came said. He's off to Acreville now, but
he'll be home tonight, and father's going to send my new hat by him.
When Buttercup's my own cow I wish I could change her name and call her
Red Rover, but p'r'aps her mother wouldn't like it. When she b'longs to
me, mebbe I won't be so 'fraid of gettin' hooked and scrunched, because
she'll know she's mine, and she'll go better. I haven't let her get
snarled up in the rope one single time, and I don't show I'm afraid, do
I?”
“I should never suspect it for an instant,” said Mrs. Baxter
encouragingly. “I've often envied you your bold, brave look!”
Elisha appeared distinctly pleased. “I haven't cried, either, when she's
dragged me over the pasture bars and peeled my legs. Bill Petes's little
brother Charlie says he ain't afraid of anything, not even bears. He
says he would walk right up close and cuff 'em if they dared to yip;
but I ain't like that! He ain't scared of elephants or tigers or lions
either; he says they're all the same as frogs or chickens to him!”
Rebecca told her Aunt Miranda that evening that it was the Prophet's
twenty-ninth night, and that the big red cow was to be his on the
morrow.
“Well, I hope it'll turn out that way,” she said. “But I ain't a mite
sure that Cassius Came will give up that cow when it comes to the point.
It won't be the first time he's tried to crawl out of a bargain with
folks a good deal bigger than 'Lisha, for he's terrible close, Cassius
is. To be sure he's stiff in his joints and he's glad enough to have
a boy to take the cow to the pasture in summer time, but he always has
hired help when it comes harvestin'. So 'Lisha'll be no use from this
on; and I dare say the cow is Abner Simpson's anyway. If you want a walk
tonight, I wish you'd go up there and ask Mis' Came if she'll lend me
an' your Aunt Jane half her yeast-cake. Tell her we'll pay it back when
we get ours a Saturday. Don't you want to take Thirza Meserve with you?
She's alone as usual while Huldy's entertainin' beaux on the side porch.
Don't stay too long at the parsonage!”